Deadly Star

by CJ Petterson

  “It’s obviously affecting my personal security, or you wouldn’t be here. You want me to bury my head in the sand? I don’t think so.”

  Sully rubbed the back of his neck. “You and your pathological curiosity. You have to promise me you’ll treat this information with more secrecy than you treated your genome research.”

  “I won’t even include it in my prayers.”

  “I believe you spotted a satellite.”

  “How gullible do you think I am? That’s not even logical,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I know what a satellite tracks like in the sky, and it wouldn’t be a twinkle. Way too big for that. Besides, why would anyone care if I saw a satellite? I certainly wouldn’t be the only one that spotted a huge chunk of metal circling the globe.”

  “If we did it right, it wouldn’t be spotted. This satellite is new technology. A nanosatellite.”

  She sighed because she knew he was joking or lying, talking sci-fi nonsense to distract her. “Nanotechnology might be the latest and greatest thing in the scientific world, but there’s no such thing as a nanosatellite.”

  He didn’t crack a smile.

  “You’re not — ” She almost said “serious” but stopped because she could see he was completely serious.

  “You don’t have to take my word,” he said. “Check it out yourself. Do a Google search on the Internet. In 1999 the Air Force Research Laboratory issued a white paper that proposed giving DARPA grants to some university engineering departments to develop nanosatellite deployment structures.”

  She knitted her eyebrows together and shook her head. “That sounds like well-rehearsed gobbledegook.”

  “DARPA, the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency arm of the Department of Defense, makes these kinds of grants all the time.”

  “The government makes grants to universities to develop weapons?”

  “The grants aren’t for weapons. DARPA provides funds for technoholic, eager-beaver, aerospace engineering students to brainstorm and develop new technology concepts.”

  “Like I said, weapons,” Mirabel said.

  “This project was part of a study to see if clusters of nanosatellites could be used to defend against ellies.”

  “Quit talking in a code I don’t understand.”

  “E-L-Es. Extinction level events,” Sully said. “Things like rogue comets and asteroids … the ellies that could blow the earth out of the universe. Several years ago, the University of Washington, Utah State, and Virginia Tech began working on a preliminary nanosat design they named Dawgstar. Cornell worked on another one. DARPA has invested more than a billion dollars in nanotechnology research of one sort or another.”

  “How small can those nanosatellites be?”

  “I don’t know the exact specs, but last July the news media reported that astronauts on the space station Mir released some mini satellites they had brought up with them.”

  “I read the newspapers, Sully, and I’m sure I’d remember reading that. I was just getting into astronomy, and I would’ve been trying to find them.”

  “It was a reporter’s throw-away line. The headline was about the Japanese astronaut testing some high-tech underwear.”

  “I’d laugh, but I can see you’re not joking. What makes a nanosatellite different from those mini satellites, and what’s it supposed to do?”

  Sully shrugged. “That’s as much as I’m able to say.”

  “Able?”

  “Because I don’t know any more about it.”

  “I can’t be the only one to see it. Someone else has to have spotted this thing.”

  He shrugged again. “We don’t think so. It’s scheduled for a short orbit cycle then it’s going to die as a shooting star over the desert.”

  “How did you even find out I’d seen it?”

  “Ve haf vays,” he said with a smile.

  “You’re not funny.” She wasn’t ready to lighten up.

  “You called Palomar for copies of their photos that night. You talked about spotting a new comet. The agency got wind of it because of who you are,” he said. “You’re a respected scientist with an interested audience.”

  “I’m a research scientist, and my audience is made up of other scientists and plant material. But I like your description better.” She smiled in spite of herself. Respected scientist was an acknowledgement she’d worked her whole career to earn, but this was a strange way to hear it. “Where does Saint John fit in?”

  “That’s a question I can’t answer.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  “I can’t.” When she stabbed a finger in his direction, he held his hands up in mock surrender and added, “I’m working on it.”

  She jumped when the doorbell rang out its loud, two-toned gong.

  He immediately headed for the window. “You expecting someone?”

  She shook her head.

  He looked through the curtain, checking the porch and the street. “Maybe she’s a mail carrier, maybe she’s not, but there’s a woman in a blue uniform on the porch.”

  “If she’s a stocky blond, it’s Janie. Could be the survey photos from Mount Palomar, but I thought they wouldn’t arrive for another two or three days.”

  He nodded for Mirabel to open the door.

  Janie smiled and held out an Express Mail envelope.

  “Afternoon, Mirabel. This just came in. I saw the observatory’s return address and guessed you might be waiting for it, so I ran it right over.”

  “You guessed right, Janie. Thanks.”

  Sully pushed the door shut.

  “You slammed the door in her face. She’s going to wonder what’s the matter with me.”

  “Better she wonder than attend your funeral. You’re a target framed in the door.”

  “Are you trying to make me nuts?” She pulled the strip that zipped open the envelope, slipped her hand inside, and pulled out two eight-by-ten, full-color photos of a night sky speckled by starlight and washed in the gassy mists of nebulae. “Rats!”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “This.” She pointed to a place on the photo where most of the color was washed out.

  He slipped his hand over hers, and a warmth swept through her as his touch lingered before he took the photo. “What am I looking at?”

  “See these?” She circled her finger over the blur. “High-altitude clouds. They’re blurring the area where I saw that thing you said is a nanosatellite.”

  “You have a jeweler’s loupe, don’t you?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do. An 8X. How’d you know?”

  “Photographers use them to check the details of pictures. Why wouldn’t astronomers?” He waved the pictures in the air then handed them to her. “Go over these with that loupe. The magnification might bring up something out of the background. Something you can check against your star chart.”

  Last week it would have seemed out of character for him to know about star charts, but today, Mirabel didn’t think twice about his breadth of knowledge. “What are you going to do?”

  “When Frank gets back — ” The sound of a truck engine filtered in, and Sully peered through the curtain. “Speak of the devil. Okay, I’ve got some things to check out.”

  Her pulse quickened again when he slid his hand down her arm and squeezed her hand. Her reaction annoyed her, and she freed her hand to move it behind her back.

  “You stay in the house, Mirabel. Promise?”

  “I promise to be a good girl,” she said. “You be safe.”

  “Always.” He headed toward the door. “You can uncross your fingers now,” he added over his shoulder. “I’ve already told Frank to pay attention ’cause you’re sneaky.”

  “You are such a — ”

  “And
it’s not nice to wave goodbye with that finger,” he said over his shoulder. He pointed to the deadbolt. “Lock this,” he said and shut the door behind him.

  She started to follow him to the door and the phone rang, the sound zapping through her like an electrical shock. She picked it up and waited for the voice at the other end.

  “Hello? I’m calling for Dr. Mirabel Campbell,” a high-pitched voice said.

  “This is Dr. Campbell.”

  “Dr. Campbell, this is Darla Parenti. We’ve talked before. I’m the coordinator for the genome research conference.”

  “Of course. I remember you, and how cool is this? I was just going to call. Unfortunately, I’m not able to attend the conference at this time. Could you return a copy of the report I sent you?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, that’s not possible. Actually I’m calling you to request a duplicate copy of your reports because all the presentations were destroyed in a fire at the convention center offices last night.”

  “What?”

  “There was a fire. All the presentations were destroyed.”

  Mirabel’s stomach cramped; beads of sweat erupted above her upper lip and across her forehead. She looked at the door Sully had just closed. “Can you hold on a second?” She dropped the phone on the cushions and ran to twist the deadbolt to lock the door. Then she sank down on the couch. “Was it arson?” she asked, her voice gravel-coated with fear.

  “I can’t say.”

  Of course it was arson, Mirabel thought. This is about my research. “My original went to D.C., and I sent you the duplicate.”

  “You didn’t keep a copy of the material you sent?”

  Mirabel leaned her forehead into one hand and muttered, “Murphy’s Law.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Murphy’s Law. Everything that can go wrong will. There was a break-in at my lab yesterday, and my only other copy has gone missing.”

  The line went silent for several seconds. “I’ll have to notify the National Institutes of Health.”

  “Of course.”

  “You’re not attending the conference?”

  “My plans have changed,” Mirabel said. “A death.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “The astronomers’ meeting going on there — do you know if — ”

  “Any group that had material stored in the center’s offices would have the same problem. Sorry. But, if you’re able to locate another copy of your report — ”

  “I’ll let you know as soon as I do,” Mirabel said.

  Sick to her stomach, she needed to get her mind on something else. She grabbed up the Mount Palomar photos and switched on the desk lamp. A diligent rummage through the clutter of her desk drawer uncovered the jeweler’s loupe — a plastic, two-inch-high magnifier shaped like an hourglass with one end bigger than the other. She cleaned off the dust and smudges then held the biggest end, about the circumference of a silver dollar, a hair’s-breadth above the picture. Eight powers of magnification revealed a lot of details.

  • • •

  “Davis.” The voice on the other end of Sully’s phone connection sounded vaguely aloof, professional, and tinged with a Southern twang.

  “Hey, boss.” Sully stood in a narrow hallway that led to the restrooms at Mario’s Café. Behind him was a locked, dark blue, steel door that opened from the inside into the alley. He leaned one shoulder against the wall next to the public telephone and made sure he had a clear view of the length of the hall. He bent forward slightly and made a quick check of the front door of the café.

  “I wish you’d stop calling me that. I’m not your boss,” Marshall Jefferson Davis growled.

  “I know, but ‘go-between’ sounds cheesy.”

  “I’m a CIA Special Operations and Program Officer. How about just plain Marshall?”

  “Well, Just Plain Marshall, you’re the guy that got me assigned to this off-the-books black op. That makes you my boss.”

  “It’s your own fault you got tagged. It’s your past coming to haunt you. Your ex being involved made you the obvious choice. Our man at Mount Palomar says she’s the only person who ordered photos of a possible sighting so far.”

  “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

  “Maybe we got lucky.”

  “I think maybe we didn’t. Saint John is here,” Sully said.

  Marshall swore. “It’s been a while since we’ve heard from him. Where’d you run into him?”

  “At Mirabel’s place. And her astronomy partner, Dr. Briggs, has gone missing.”

  “What’s going on out there?”

  “Don’t know yet.” Sully straightened when an elderly woman started down the long hallway, pushing a tubular steel walker in front of her. His voice dropped into a whisper. “I need you to get some eyes and ears out on the street for me. He’s not here on his own.” When Dan had called about a possible double agent in the Company, Sully had decided to hold off mentioning the call to anyone, including Marshall. Now, he planned to keep it that way. Dan’s death made Sully’s hunt to find the mole intense and personal, and he didn’t want the special ops officer to interfere.

  “I’ll check into it,” Marshall said. “In the meantime, I need you to stay focused. Your assignment is to keep our nanosat from going public.”

  Sully wasn’t happy. Marshall’s tone had made it a do-whatever-it-takes assignment, and he hadn’t mentioned any concern for Mirabel’s safety.

  “Do you have any resources?” Marshall asked.

  “I’ve got a local asset I can milk for chatter on the street.” Sully’s watch beeped softly when it reached the two-minute time limit he set for his field-based phone calls. “I’ll call again in four hours.” He hung up and walked toward the old woman, who clanged her walker against the doorframe as she struggled to maneuver into the restroom. “Let me,” he said, then reached across, pulled the door open, and held it while she shuffled past him.

  “You are most kind,” she said in a small voice. “Thank you.” She bent her head in a slight bow.

  He heard the accent, noted the frailness of her stature, the flat planes of her face, and the skin drawn as tight as a drum across her cheeks. But it was her sparrow-like eyes that held his attention. The tiny, coal-black eyes went from sentient and bright to empty and flat, their luster dulled in an instant before her thin lids lowered into an almond-shaped line.

  “You are most welcome.” He smiled and let his eyes slide away from hers without registering. I recognize the faces of everyone who lives in Mendocito, he thought, all one thousand nine hundred and sixty-two listed on the city limits sign, and you’re not one of them. He filed her face and demeanor in the back of his mind for future reference. He bowed slightly — to the woman and to his instincts honed by experience. Until we meet again.

  • • •

  “Twinkle, twinkle, little star. Show me, show me where you are,” Mirabel singsonged. She laid the Mount Palomar photos on the kitchen table, placed the star chart between them, and rested on her elbows over them, searching their surfaces with the loupe. She examined a two-inch square section on the first photograph then compared her findings with the star chart. She made the same search on the second photo. Nothing. She moved eastward a few degrees, pored over the two photos then the star chart. She continued this process, moving south a few degrees, then westward, then south again, then north. An hour into her task, she groaned, rocked her head from shoulder to shoulder, blinked tears back into her dry eyes, and then looked across the room.

  “This is like counting sand.” Her thoughts strayed to the plane crash, to Dan, Sully, and Saint John before she shook them out of her head and went back to work.

  By the time the coffee tasted too bitter to drink, her eyes were burning. She’d also been standing on her feet too long, and the wound in he
r thigh had become background pain. She pulled up a chair, sat down, propped her leg on another chair, and restarted her search.

  She felt a presence and turned to see Sully leaning over her shoulder. He had blood on his shirt. “You’re hurt,” she said.

  “No. You’re dead. Look.” His dipped the tip of a finger in the gore pooling on the table, stroked it across her lips then kissed her.

  She began to sag forward, unable to raise her head. “Why did you kill me?” The words sounded hollow and garbled in her ears. “I love you.”

  “You’re not thinking straight. I’m not who you think I am. You need to wake up. Wake up, Mirabel.”

  And the door alarm kept ringing, and ringing and …

  The jangle of the telephone made its way into her consciousness, waking her enough to pick it up.

  “Mirabel, it’s Sully. The sighting hasn’t gone public. You sound — Everything okay?”

  “Everything’s fine.” Really weird dream is all. “I didn’t find anything on the photos.”

  “Why don’t you hold off for a while? Get some rest. There’ll be someone out front all night. Just keep the house buttoned up tight, and I’ll see you later.”

  “I’m curious about that thing,” she said to the dead line, “so I’m going to keep checking anyway.”

  Mirabel rinsed her face under the kitchen faucet then started another pot of coffee and grabbed a candy bar. She brought in a table lamp from the living room and went back to the search.

  In minutes, she spotted an almost imperceptible speck visible on one of the photographs but not on the star chart. She put her finger on the spot, looked across the room and blinked rapidly for several seconds, then refocused on the photo. When she was positive what she saw wasn’t a spot floating around in her tired eyes, she drew a circle on the photos with a red felt-tip marker. “Gotcha,” she murmured. “Got what?”

  She bit off a hunk of candy and challenged her absent ex-husband. “I intend to find out what’s going on up there, Sully. I owe it to Dan … and to Ray.”

  She checked the calendar on the wall and saw “new moon” above the date. The sky was dotted with stars outside the kitchen window. “Tonight is perfect,” she said as she twisted her watch around, “and Griebe’ll just have to take me out there.” She headed for the living room window.